


Wheels Were Playing Fast (in 9/8 Time)

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Barebacking, Comfort Sex, Dirty Talk, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Innuendo, Intercrural Sex, Life-Affirming Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: “So why don’t we go to the bed, lay you out, and let me take care of you tonight.”
Relationships: Samuel Wyatt/Thomas ‘Mac’ McAllister
Kudos: 17





	Wheels Were Playing Fast (in 9/8 Time)

**Author's Note:**

> Episode tag for s8e4. Title from “How I Spent My Fall Vacation,” music and lyrics by Bruce Cockburn, copyright 1980 True North Records. Concrit always adored!

The digital display on Wyatt’s watch reads two twenty-seven am when he startles awake from a reasonably deep slumber.

At first he’s not sure what’s roused him, so it takes a few seconds to regain his bearings. They’re still in their hotel room in Tel Aviv. At this time of year it’s about four more hours to sunrise. They’re catching a plane at ten to Belgrade, back on the trail to finding Zayef, so they really do need a few more hours sleep first –

The bed feels larger. Colder. Emptier than it should.

Instinctively Wyatt stretches his right arm out to check. The other side of the bed is definitely vacant: its occupant not only missing, but the covers also pulled up taut and smooth.

Goddammit, that would explain it. Son of a bitch.

He rubs his face, lets his eyes adjust, then looks around the room. It’s mostly dark except for a sliver of moonlight peeking between the almost-closed blackout drapes at the window directly across. The beam’s partially obscured by a Mac-shaped shadow looking out towards the beach below.

How long has he been standing there, he wonders.

Long enough for the sheets beside him to lose their heat, his mind helpfully supplies.

Great.

Wyatt wonders if Mac’s been subtly off his game since he told him and Novin back in Albania, that Coltrane was recommending Mac for officer training. Or maybe Wyatt himself is off, and he’s simply been projecting; Wyatt hadn’t been thrilled to hear about it, though he’s mostly resigned to it now.

(He glances over at the outline of his rucksack against the wall with its couple hundred thousand dollars of pilfered mafia cash tucked inside. Nope, still safe.)

Yet it’s not Mac’s upcoming advancement, while Wyatt remains a lowly sergeant, that bothers him so much. It’s that the last few months between them, after he broke up with Madison for good, have been _nice_. Comfortable. (Comfort _ing_ , his mind clarifies, but refuses to explain why.) Since they’d fallen into bed late one rough, drunken evening, both too wasted and horny to care that they were screwing each other blind.

It was one of those things that should've only happened once. Except to his surprise, and secret delight, it never stopped. Over the months he’s gotten used to Mac’s steady breathing beside him as he falls asleep at night; Mac’s obscenely talented mouth on his dick waking him up in the morning; Mac’s fingers digging into his thigh when Wyatt fucks him senseless from behind after a long, difficult day.

He’s not quite sure what this arrangement means for Mac. He’s never asked and part of him doesn’t want to know. Possibly it’s the same thing that Wyatt wants: a connection with someone who gets where he’s coming from. At any rate, Wyatt doesn’t want to give it up, because he’s always been selfish like that.

But he’s decided, like a mature grown adult, he won’t derail Mac’s opportunity. Not when it’s something Mac’s always wanted as long as he’s known him. Hard as it’ll be to let him go…

Jesus H. Christ, he berates himself, it’s not like Mac’s leaving forever. It’s only officer training. Yes he’ll be assigned elsewhere afterwards, but you’ll still see each other occasionally. Once he’s a captain, he’ll buy all the drinks forever, and that’s a fucking bonus right there.

Plus there’s still this mission to finish. _So quit your bloody moaning about it, cos we’ve still got fucking time, mate._

Wyatt hears the last thought in Mac’s bracing Northern accent and he grins despite himself. He snaps back to the situation at hand and mulls over how to solve it.

“It’s two-thirty am, McAllister,” he presently calls out to Mac, “come back to bed.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sounds fully awake, like he’s been for awhile, and he doesn’t turn around. “Be there in a tick.”

Mac’s bearing tenses in a subtle fighting stance like he’s been caught. Well, he’s definitely brooding. He’s been subdued since the shootout downtown this afternoon. They’d briefly retrieved the Imperiya device from the police station, but Mac’s contact on the force, Spiegel, had died in a barrage of bullets during the recovery.

Despite putting Mac’s life at risk more than once, Spiegel had been well-meaning and helpful. Mac had clearly liked the awkward young constable, enough to salute his passing with a toast.

But Spiegel’s death was a hard pill to swallow because they’d ultimately lost Imperiya not long after. Hence the boy had died for nothing, and that outcome was on them. Mac feels personally responsible and he’ll carry that guilt for awhile.

They can’t afford the luxury of wallowing in grief, however, they have to move on whether they’re ready or not. Wyatt checks his watch a second time and sits up, tosses off the covers and swings his feet onto the carpeted floor. He approaches Mac, not concealing his footfalls; Mac still doesn’t budge, not even when Wyatt stands beside him. Mac’s wearing a towel wrapped around his hips, smelling fresh and damp from a shower; and it’s here that he realizes Mac’s fists, now clenched, are trembling.

Wyatt surveys the moonlight from the waning gibbous moon, shining over the blue-black surface of the Mediterranean. The view from their eleventh floor window overlooking the sea is truly stunning with the stars and moon reflecting off the glassy water. They don’t usually get time to enjoy sights like this; he’s almost grateful for Mac’s sleeplessness, for letting him witness this gorgeous nighttime scene at ass o’clock in the morning.

But one look at Mac’s profile and Wyatt knows he’s somewhere else. A place difficult to come back from without help. And it’s their job to bring each other back. Any way they can.

“Have you gotten any sleep tonight?” he asks.

Mac startles, then recovers as he processes the question. “Yeah, sure,” Mac says, dismissive and still staring straight ahead.

Wyatt doubts it. He’d expected they’d be doing the nasty the minute they returned to the hotel after drinks and dinner. Indeed Mac had beelined to the bathroom right after they’d closed and locked the door. But after Wyatt took his turn, Mac was lying curled and motionless on his side of the bed, completely burrowed under the duvet. Wyatt had actually been disappointed. Now he wonders if Mac wasn’t playing a very good game of possum.

“You know we have to be up for seven, right?”

“I’m fine, Wyatt. Stop hovering.”

Bullshit, Wyatt thinks. “You protest too much,” he says lightly, and slips around Mac to embrace him from behind, loosening the towel so it pools on the floor.

They’re both naked now, and Wyatt immediately feels arousal tingle at the edge of his senses. But Mac freezes at the touch, and Wyatt thinks Mac feels too miserable to want to do anything tonight, especially when Mac brushes his ass against Wyatt’s groin and Little Wyatt obediently snaps to attention. That had probably been unintentional because Mac flinches and twists away. Like he shouldn’t allow himself any pleasure; like he doesn’t deserve to feel good right now.

Wyatt’s been there enough times himself. But they have to remember to live, not just survive days and nights like these; sometimes they need to remind each other of that. Wyatt pulls Mac closer and they begin to sway a little.

After a couple of minutes, Mac relents with a faint sigh and sinks back against him, head against his collarbone. Mac wants to be distracted after all; satisfied, Wyatt begins by running his hands up and down Mac’s torso in long, unhurried caresses. He nuzzles the curve between Mac’s neck and shoulder while drifting closer to his dick with each pass, feeling Mac’s muscles quiver as he approaches his groin. He eventually palms Mac’s dick, coaxes it erect while he works himself just below Mac’s ass cheeks to rub slowly along his taint, kissing his neck and teasing his nips with his free hand.

Mac grunts low in his throat with the rhythmic friction, begins to match Wyatt’s rolls of his pelvis, reaches back to knead Wyatt’s ass. Oh yeah, here we go: Wyatt moans with the contact, scrapes his teeth into Mac’s shoulder to elicit a long answering hum. Wyatt rolls his thumb over the tip of Mac’s now fully engorged dick, smears the bead of pre-come over it as he times his pulls to their mutual thrusts. He thinks of taking Mac this way, sliding wetly between his inner thighs, then entering him full force and speeding up until they both climax. They’ve gotten off like this a few times before. Already he’s imagining the eager clench of Mac’s flesh around him when he bends him over the nearby table, the better to drive in deep and fast. If they’re going to do that though, Mac should probably prepare.

But Mac’s always doing that, he thinks as he drags his lips up towards his jaw, always working himself open to take him in. It doesn’t seem fair. Maybe he could rectify that somehow, make the prep more memorable for him. More enjoyable for them both. “I have a proposition for you,” he says, slowly gyrating his hips.

Mac bucks into his fist with a soft exhale. “I’m listening.”

“I was thinking – just how much – I want to bend you – over that table – spread your legs – and ram my dick – in your hole – til you come so hard – you fucking faint,” he whispers. He punctuates each phrase with a lazy plunge forward between Mac’s thighs. Mac grunts with each long slide of Wyatt’s dick over his taint.

“Go on,” Mac says, his voice rough with need.

“So why don’t we go to the bed,” Wyatt murmurs, nibbling the shell of Mac’s ear, “lay you out, and let me take care of you tonight. Loosen you up before I screw your fucking brains out.”

“How do you propose to do that?” Mac asks, pulling Wyatt’s hand on his chest up to kiss his fingertips. “Don’t recall you saying you’ve fingered anyone before.”

“ _Au contraire_ , there’s a lot you don’t know about my love and respect for great ass.” Mac scoffs; a novel idea sparks in Wyatt’s imagination, something he’s certain Mac will appreciate. He grins against his earlobe. “You’ll see when we get there.”

Mac draws Wyatt’s index finger into his mouth and sucks provocatively on it for a moment, his tongue swirling as he considers. Wyatt groans, thinking of that practised tongue working his dick the way it’s currently rolling around his finger. “Let me do this for you,” he murmurs beneath Mac’s ear, “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Mac withdraws Wyatt’s finger with a wet sound. “All right, dickhead, I’ll trust you.” He tilts his head, his lips meeting Wyatt’s in a long, open-mouthed kiss.

Eventually they move together from the window to the bed, where Wyatt gently lowers Mac down on the mattress, urges him to roll onto his stomach.

“Let’s get you ready,” Wyatt murmurs.

“Like how? ‘Assume the position’?”

“Something like that.” They both snort back a quick laugh. Mac pulls himself up onto his elbows and knees, arches his back and hips so the curve of his ass sticks out, drops his head with a grunt of anticipation. And God, what a fucking turn-on to watch him offer his ass up to him just like that.

Wyatt hums appreciatively as he kneels behind him to spread those firm globes of muscle apart and expose his cleft. There’s now enough moonlight from the window to admire everything in front of him, most of all Mac’s tight, puckered hole in between. It never ceases to amaze Wyatt how Mac can work himself sufficiently open to take Wyatt’s girth all the way in. The wonders of the fucking human body.

But he’s promised Mac he’ll _take care_ of him tonight, and he means it. Because while Mac might be flexible, he’s sure there’s no way he can do _this_ for himself. Wyatt leans forward, and slowly, deliberately licks a wet stripe up Mac’s cleft, from his taint all the way up to the curve of his lower back.

Mac gasps with utter shock and pleasure, pushing back on instinct for more. Pleased by Mac’s response, Wyatt repeats it, dragging his tongue and taking his time until he reaches the pucker, where he carefully begins to lick and nibble at it with his lips, probing carefully around the entrance to ease his way inside.

“Fucking hell,” Mac breathes, his whole body trembling with the onslaught, “oh _fuck_ me, mate.”

Wyatt pulls away to reply, “All in good time, McAllister,” with a knowing chuckle. Right away he dives in again, flicking playfully around his hole, eliciting a choked whimper. He tastes salt and musky sweat, wonders why they’ve never done this before because he finds he fucking _loves_ teasing this breathless, helpless reaction out of him. He nuzzles and kisses the exquisitely soft skin on either side, mindful not to scratch anywhere with his beard, until Mac’s squirming with the effort of luring Wyatt’s attention back to where he wants it most.

Oh yeah, he adores having Mac at his mercy. Wyatt obliges, with a playful hum that buzzes over warm, moist skin, and Mac unleashes a storm of incoherent curses, ending with a strangled cry when Wyatt finally breaches him, dipping his tongue in and out.

Mac tenses and seethes, almost whimpering in delight. “Don’t stop, mate, don’t fucking _dare_ ,” he warns.

Wyatt feels Mac loosen up and begin to shudder, realizes how close to the edge he is without having even touched his dick. Elated by the feat, he thinks briefly about finishing him off in pure pleasure just like this –

It hits Wyatt like a blow to the solar plexus. Why the hell do they only ever get off facing away from each other? They’re closer than friends, but when it comes to banging – as hot as it is – they may as well be two strangers scratching a mutual itch for all it matters.

It bothers him more than he thinks it should. Then it clicks: he wants _more_ , needs more, for both of them. He’s always known that one moment of distraction at the wrong time would mean losing Mac for good, and vice versa. On some level he’s even prepared for it.

But that’s only a way to survive. Not to live. If they’re going to be together in this, they have to be together in _every_ sense of the word. So he stops and pulls back, dragging Mac from the brink as he does, moving his hands to cup his hips as he leans his forehead on his lower back.

Mac’s none too pleased with this turn of events. “Oi, dickhead, why’d you stop there?” he snaps, more than peevish that Wyatt’s not going to tongue-fuck him to a smashing oblivion. “I was _this_ close – ”

Wyatt raises his head. “On your back, McAllister,” he says sharply. It’s not a request and he blinks at himself for making it.

So does Mac. He can almost hear Mac’s eyebrows rise of their own accord as he turns his head to look at Wyatt. “What the hell?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused.

You’re not the only one, Wyatt thinks wryly. “Because I’m asking you to,” he adds, attempting to soften the demand. “Turn over. Please. For me.”

“Why does it matter if I do or not?”

Everything, Wyatt thinks, but “Because I want to _see_ you, Mac,” is what he replies. It’s the only explanation he can offer, and the intensity surprises both of them.

Mac’s breath hitches; he hefts himself over as requested after a moment’s hesitation. “We’ve never done this before,” he points out, quiet and wary. Wyatt can almost see the gears shift in his mind, working out all the implications; Wyatt catches the briefest flash of longing before he glances away. After a long moment he meets Wyatt’s gaze again, his expression carefully neutral. “You sure about this?” he adds, uncertain.

Wyatt can relate: they’re heading towards dangerous territory here, something like real intimacy. “Yeah. I just thought we should change it up tonight,” he says, shrugging one shoulder, trying to sound casual to hide the budding fear clawing at his own heart. “Something different to try.”

Mac nods slowly and makes a choice. “Want the light on, then?”

Relieved, Wyatt shakes his head in agreement. Bastard’s right, the moonlight’s bright, but not enough. “I do, thanks.”

Mac slides up to turn the headboard lamp on low, enveloping the bed in a cone of soft light. He grabs a mini-bottle of whisky off the nightstand and hands it over. “Not kissing you with that mouth,” he says, “not where it’s just been.”

Wyatt glares at him but concedes the point and drains the bottle, swishing the alcohol around for dramatic effect. “Grab the lube while you’re there,” he replies.

“Do I have to do everything myself?” Mac grouses, but he stretches over to the bedside drawer, opens it and fetches the tube, tosses it deftly to Wyatt. He pulls out a shiny wrapped square and waves it at him. “One of these too?”

Wyatt pauses at the measured tone in Mac’s voice. They should, he acknowledges silently, usually they do, but this time he wants no barrier between them. From how Mac’s studying him, he can’t help but intuit that Mac feels the same way. “Not tonight,” he answers, and Mac returns it to the drawer.

“Raw it is,” Mac says, half to himself. Wyatt doesn’t miss the slight upwards curve of his lips, though, or the approving shake of his head as he turns towards him.

Mac settles himself on his back as requested, slides his legs up, bending his knees; pulls more pillows beneath him to raise his ass up for better access. Wyatt kneels between, hooks Mac’s legs over his shoulders, goes back to _taking care_ of him. He alternates between laving Mac’s dick and balls, lapping up the pre-come that continues to bead at his slit; and working his hole open with generously slicked-up fingers, until Mac’s eagerly fucking himself on three of them, flexing for the best angle. Wyatt looks up from between Mac’s legs: his eyes closed in concentration, his face flushed pink that blooms right down to his chest, how can someone so goddamn prickly and stubborn be so gorgeously pliant like this?

Wyatt carefully withdraws his fingers, coats his dick with more lube while debating the best way to watch Mac come undone. Except Mac’s got other ideas; apparently tired of waiting for Wyatt to decide, as soon as Wyatt’s ready he lunges and tackles him. He flips him onto his back with a wolfish expression, pinning his wrists to the mattress.

“Mac, what the fuck?” Wyatt gasps, irritated.

“ _You_ said you wanted to see me, dickhead,” Mac said, moving to straddle Wyatt’s hips and centering himself over his well-lubed dick. “Now you can watch me all you bloody want.” Holding his gaze as if daring him to fight back, he slides right down, taking Wyatt in to the root in one smooth fell.

Oh, _God_. Wyatt jerks upward with the glorious sensation of being sheathed in Mac’s snug, perfect heat. “You asshole,” he says with a teasing grin. He’s rewarded with a wide, warm, _genuine_ smile from Mac, which both thrills and terrifies him to his core. He forcefully pushes the fear away, rejoices in the thrill; Mac releases him so he can tuck two of the pillows under his head for a better view. Wyatt grabs Mac by the hips, digging his fingers into his firm buttocks. This will definitely work for him.

“Let’s go for a ride,” Wyatt says with an exaggerated wink.

“You really need to work on your innuendo, mate,” Mac counters, raising himself up and settling back down with a rumble of satisfaction.

“Let’s go for a fucking ride,” Wyatt clarifies, and that draws a deep-throated chuckle that warms him all over.

Mac rolls his eyes. “Suppose that’s marginally better. Let’s enjoy the scenery while we’re at it.” They both crack up at that, spluttering with laughter.

“That is absolutely terrible, McAllister,” Wyatt says when he finally catches his breath.

This, Wyatt thinks, is maybe what he’s been missing, this sense of fun while they chase after release. And holy Christ, after a few more thrusts, he is absolutely enjoying the scenery, too, watching Mac ride his dick. How Mac centres himself to rock his ass for more contact, how his abdominals ripple and his powerful thighs contract and relax to control his strokes. How Mac’s dick juts out straight in front of him, straining to be touched. It’s gloriously shameless and Wyatt’s not one to resist that temptation; he grasps it, his hand moving in time with Mac’s body, his gaze never wavering away from him.

Beads of sweat dot Mac’s forehead, plaster the prematurely greying curls of his hair to his scalp and trickle down his neck until he’s almost glowing with exertion in the light of the lamp. His eyelids flutter closed; he tips his head back to expose the long column of his throat. Mac is fucking beautiful in all his openness that he reveals; the spectacle shoots keening desire straight through Wyatt, and he wants to do a hell of a lot more than just watch Mac ride him.

“Come here,” Wyatt pants, “let me fuck you, Mac.” He doesn’t care that he’s begging, just that he needs to feel Mac’s skin against his own.

Mac inclines his head to meet his gaze, and at that point the invisible boundary shatters between them, that’s kept them oddly separate from each other until now. They meet halfway, Wyatt raising himself on his elbows so Mac can capture Wyatt’s lips in a desperate, hungry kiss while his hands roam greedily wherever they can reach. Wyatt picks up the pace, pushing deep into him with long, urgent strokes until Mac is gasping with need into his mouth, matching each thrust.

They plunge headlong until all Wyatt cares about is the feeling of Mac bearing down everywhere around him, his mouth hot and wet and relentless; his hands straying everywhere, his scent burrowing into every corner of his being. His body takes everything Wyatt gives and he gives back just as hard; he grips Mac’s hips tight enough to leave finger-shaped marks as he drills into Mac faster and faster, until he breaks the kiss and meets his laser-focused gaze, both of them panting in unison as they race to the edge.

Then Mac bucks, his back arches up, and he lets loose a long, sustained cry of release as his climax smashes over him. Jet after jet of warm stickiness sprays Wyatt’s belly and chest, Mac’s lower body clenching rhythmically in waves along Wyatt’s dick. Wyatt stares at Mac’s completely open face bathed in pure bliss; everything short-circuits, and his own orgasm rears up with a flash, explodes into shards of white-hot, consuming brilliance as he spurts into Mac until he’s fully spent.

Wyatt slowly regains his senses to find Mac collapsed on top of him, their foreheads pressed together as he cradles his face.

“What happened?” Wyatt murmurs, still a bit disoriented, “did I black out or something?”

“Or something,” Mac says, pulling back to regard him with complete affection. “You good?”

Wyatt’s still buried to the hilt inside Mac, who doesn’t seem to want to release him just yet. Wyatt doesn’t want to let him go either, though it won’t be long until he softens and they’ll have to separate. “Yeah, I’m good, McAllister,” he says through his daze, “thanks.” He smooths his hands over Mac’s back, closes his eyes and sighs in utter satisfaction. God but he hasn’t nutted this intense in a long time. Mac leans in to nuzzle Wyatt’s shoulder and they rest for a moment in sated mutual contentment.

Too soon, Wyatt feels himself start to slip out. Reluctantly, Mac eases off Wyatt and rises, clenching himself together, heading straight to the bathroom with the awkward, cramped gait of a man who’s been thoroughly reamed. Wyatt tracks him until he shuts the door, and checks his watch quickly; just past three-thirty. Huh, it seemed way shorter than an hour. He stretches out, covers his eyes with his arm to wait his turn. A piss and soapy washcloth will do for now; a full shower can wait til morning.

The door opens, and Wyatt slips into the bathroom for his quick ablution. When he returns, the lamp light is doused, and Mac’s in bed, covers pulled up. For a disappointed moment Wyatt thinks Mac’s already asleep, but he throws back the duvet once Wyatt reaches the bedside. As soon as he lies down, Mac covers them up and pulls him into his arms, arranging them until Wyatt’s resting his head against Mac’s broad, warm chest, Mac’s heartbeat thumping strong and steady under his ear.

Wyatt lets himself sink wholeheartedly into Mac’s embrace. They’ve never done this before, either, more used to rolling over and going to sleep back to back; it’s everything Wyatt imagined after their mind-blowing session. They’ve pushed through to an entirely different level, and he’s never felt closer to Mac than this moment. He feels fucking exhilarated –

Until reality sets in, and a wave of paradoxical melancholy washes over him. Their mission’s over once they catch Zayef. He’s certain that’s going to happen sooner rather than later; then Mac will be out of his life, and it’s not right that it took them so fucking long to get to this point before they have to leave it behind. Despite his best efforts to force the thought away, Wyatt can’t hold back a pained grimace against Mac’s chest.

“Fuck my life,” Wyatt says with a mirthless laugh, “this always happens.”

“It’s all right.” Mac folds him in tighter, gently stroking his hair. “It’s okay. We’re here now, that’s what counts.”

“I don’t want us to end, man,” Wyatt admits, “I don’t.”

“I know. I hear you. But I’m not going anywhere yet.” Mac rubs his thumb in slow, soothing arcs over Wyatt’s compass tattoo. “We’ve got time.”

Wyatt closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m the one supposed to be comforting you tonight, Mac, not the other way round,” he replies, mouth twisting a bit at the irony.

Mac only huffs and kisses the top of his head. Wyatt does feel better though, knowing that Mac acknowledges it too; he inhales deeply, catching their lingering, combined scents of sweat and soap and musk. He tries to commit every sensation of this moment together to memory: the strength of Mac’s arms around him, the sound of his heart, the softness and taste of his skin under his lips. Just in case he needs to draw on it later.

“We’ve still got time, mate,” Mac says, calm and reassuring.

“Yeah,” Wyatt replies after a long pause, praying silently, _I hope you’re right._ “We’ve still got time.”


End file.
